


Burn the Witch

by Jane_Bond



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 09:16:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/696697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jane_Bond/pseuds/Jane_Bond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two part tag for "A land without magic". Complete</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Your judgement judges and defines you"

.  
.

It had to be funny how she always lost. She just failed to see the humour.

The Blue Fairy gave her a hooded look and a threat "You better find a place to hide, Your Majesty". Her fight or flight instinct tilted heavily towards the flight. But never without Henry. She wanted to wrap him in her arms and take him with her where she could love him, just love him.

In the end, what stopped her arms from reaching out to him was his thoroughly uninterested expression about her fate, his hand on Emma's.

"Henry, please remember, no matter what they tell you, I love you"

The words were ripped from her throat despite herself. Love is weakness. Dear old mom made sure she knew that lesson by heart. But for once, just this once, she could not bring her survival instinct to kick into gear. So she said it. She said it and it was true and good and the White Knight saw it and judged her for it.

And the Blue Fairy too.

But she couldn't help herself. Her child was her true love.

She wanted to touch him, to have the memory of that touch because this time, she knew, it would be the last time. And there is some twisted comfort in knowing when the last time of anything is, because you cherish it fully. She would go to her death cherishing it and that would be the only thing they could not win out of her.

She ran. She ran out of that hospital with Emma's strange gaze memorised and Henry's indifference seared into her heart. She ran because even Queens have a sense of preservation.

She ran because when the villagers came for her she would make sure she looked the part.

She would die like the trees, on her feet, on her own terms.

She regretted nothing.

.

.

Regina dropped on her son's bed and hugged his pillow and cried. For her losses- every single one of them- Daniel, Father and Henry. Even Snow. She cried and the tears ran hot and angry and lonely. She had hoped against good sense, when she realised Emma had broken the curse that it might have included her. That her own curse had been broken too. That she might actually not be left behind this time. Stupid, stupid Regina.

.

.

And then, more than seeing it, she felt it. The cloud of magic. Gold's betrayal. That twisted little imp. He was bringing in the ultimate power. In his hands? Mass destruction.

And then it dawned on her: two can play that game.

She had magic in the old land. With magic free here, she would have her magic again.

And with magic, her sense of self.

When she'd had nothing, she'd had her magic. She was never alone when she had magic.

She would have her power. Empty and unfulfilling though it might be.  
So let the angry mob come for her with their sharpened pitchforks.

She would be ready.

She opened the window and waited for the wave to crash into her, to rise her like the wave of a broken curse had flattened her. She waited with a smile on her face.

Though it was a smile that did not quite make it to her eyes.

.

.

Emma and Henry were the only ones truly at odds that day. Everyone else seemed to have a biological understanding of magic. To belong to it and with it. They either had some or they didn't, but old alliances and old habits quickly resurfaced leaving Henry and Emma to grapple with the notions of the people they knew and the flesh and blood, living and thinking fairy tale creatures before them. Though nothing seemed to have visibly changed, everything had, in fact, changed.

Mary Margaret had a new fierceness in her eyes, David was illuminated by purpose. Leroy's anger had a direction outside himself. Ruby had a strength that was somewhere in between something of the heart and of the body, a definition that had never been there before.

Emma and Henry were left the same among a sea of change to bear witness. The mild-mannered people of Storybrook had mutated into simpler, more direct, less diluted versions of themselves.

And that, for some reason, was an unsettling turn of events that left her defensive. Despite the fact that, quite clearly, both her and Henry were quietly and reverently addressed.

.

.

Mary Margaret and David- well, Snow and Charming- oh good god, Mum and Dad- seemed lost in a haze of their own love until they saw Emma sitting on the hospital bed with Henry. Then, all hell broke loose and all there was a whole lot of hugging and tears and touching and careful study.

David had a look of perfect adoration. The little writhing, crying bundle he had stuffed into a wardrobe had come to find him. Find them. Save them. Never in his wildest dreams back then could he have imagined someone giving him such pride. His little girl was more than a promise and could do no wrong.

Mary Margaret looked at her daughter like she had for the very first time when she had come out of her body in pain and blood, counting all ten perfect fingers and toes, looking her up and down and making sure her baby was ok and healthy and that she looked so much like James when she had hoped that she would at least look a little like herself.

Emma… well, Emma was simply struggling with the idea that her parents actually did love her and that they had come for her and that every abandoned child's fantasy had actually come true in her, with parents that were good and kind and brave and her mother was pretty and her father was handsome and that finally, finally, she was not all alone in the world and someone would protect her from the monsters in the closet.

All told, there were not enough arms and hands to hug and hold almost 29 years away.

There was anger for what been taken away from them. But mostly, there was just wonder that they had found each other because that's what families do.

.

.

.

It was strange, Emma thought, as she got Henry cleaned and dressed, that she was dressing her kid. He had been hers in a very abstract sense when she had daydreamed about him before he had found her or when she had confronted Regina about her choices. He had been her kid in a storm-the-castle kind of way when she had stolen him in the dead of the night to spirit him away from Storybook. But this was Henry being hers in a bread and butter sort of way. In a get dressed and go to school, kind way. Henry was hers in a way that was difficult to reconcile with the gypsy existence that she had had so far: with all roots firmly attached on the floor, a whole family, mum, dad, son, relatives, friends, community, job.

She couldn't help the rush of blood to the head, the 'how on earth can I possibly do this?'.

She found herself on the street, walking to the place she shared with Mary- and oh god, she had been living with her mom, how crazy was that- guess family does find each other even when they don't know they belong together. And in the midst of all the head spinning bat shit crazy day she was having, it suddenly felt a lot worse, a lot like being stuck in cross between a zombie apocalypse and Mutiny on the Bounty kind of film, because, even though it was full Technicolor, this could not be, the throng of people- was that Rapunzel?- walking the streets with the single mindedness of a mob out for blood. And she knew exactly whose blood they were out for.

.

.

Regina waited patiently for the magic to hit. Until the moment the hairs at the base of her neck stood on end, because trouble had arrived but not yet announced itself.

.

.

.

Emma was paralysed in the middle of Main Street. The residents of Storybrook were on their way to exact revenge. And who could blame them?

Henry held her hand and when she thought she would see worry and panic in his face, when she thought he would run to stand in front of his mom ready to defend her, she saw only impassiveness. "I think they're out to get her." But for all the excitement, he could well have been remarking on the weather. And he pulled towards Mary's house, his hand in Snow's paralysed one.

They remained apart from the throng, not really participating. Definitely, though, not making a move to stop any of what was a sure thing

.

.

.

The first to arrive at her door was the Blue Fairy. The others stood behind her like she was some Joan of Arc fighting the devil incarnate. There were no pitchforks. This was a matter for their bare hands.

.

.

.

Regina saw the wave of magic but it she never did feel it. No. She felt it, but she felt it only as much as you feel the see fog rolling from the ocean in waves when everything is already pitch dark. There was no acknowledgement in her body of the magic returning to inhabit it.

Everyone's curse had been broken. Everyone's but hers. She remained as magicless as this land. As barren as she had been. As alone.

She remained Regina.

That she should not be able to experience magic again, that she would not be able to fend for herself was one of her smallest disappointments ever.

She would die standing then.

She heard the shuffle of feet in her drive way and around the house. They were surrounding her.

She had half expected the cries of burn the witch. There were none. What made it so much worse was the silence, eerie, menacing.

She made her way to her office and sat in her throne like chair.

Let them come.

No more, gods, no more.

.

.

.

It was not difficult to enter the house. The door was unlocked. There were no dragons guarding it. It might as well have had a welcoming red carpet.

The Blue Fairy walked in ahead of the mob, a diminutive general. Behind her, Kathryn, her arm around Frederick. And Sydney Glass, still in his asylum scrubs, his love turned to hate.

So many hands pushed open the door to the studio, there was no fear.

The Evil Queen had been vanquished and could no longer harm them.

Theirs was the revenge.

And they advanced into the room, not a word spoken.

.

.

Regina stood. She missed only the brass ring that she had carried hidden throughout her marriage and her 28 years in this magicless land. All the rest, she tried to forget. No more.

No more, gods, no more.

.

.

Emma joined the procession. Regina had taken it all from her. Her childhood, her family, her parents' life, and, nearly, her son's life.

And then, as she passed the boarded up library, she remembered. Regina had also fought tooth and nail to get it back.

Her father's sword. It was her father's sword, leaning innocently against the library door. Had it not been left behind on the ashes of a dragon?

As she took the sword, she felt, for the third time that day, an event come over her in a wave of something she did not know to describe, but that felt as real as the ground beneath her feet.

.

.

Regina smiled. All the good citizens of the old land, all of the civilized citizens of Storybrook were here to kill her with their bare hands. Only this would not be murder. Theirs would be justice, wouldn't it?

She felt hands around her neck, squeezing slowly. She felt the air fail her and then, before it all went dark, they were all on her, each trying to get a little piece of revenge done with their own hands and their own knuckles and their own teeth and their very own words. Oh they had words now. They had the usual words. They had witch, they had evil, they had bitch and they had die. They had a chant. Like a cheerleading squad singing die, die, die.

And she wanted to. Gods knew she wanted to. So very much.

.

.

Emma walked in through the door and pushed her way in. She would have walked all over them too, if the crowd had not parted like the red sea for Moses. It helps when you have a sword in your hands. When she reached Regina, she raised her sword. She felt remarkably calm as she asked them politely to step aside.

And they did. And sweet Jesus, this looked like a Discovery channel footage of black ants walking away from a white carcass.

When everyone stood well behind the desk, Emma turned her sword slowly to Regina and then, to the mob.

"I swear I'll kill the next one who touches her."


	2. Chapter 2

If there is such a thing as a collective conscience - some say a mob is a soulless animal - this one did not feel shame or regret. Only a vague curiosity. Did the White Knight want to finish off the evil one all by herself?

The Blue Fairy knew better.

She always did. The only surprise was that she had not seen it coming.

.

.

Emma knelt beside Regina and put the sword between them and the rest of Storybrook. She pulled the black hair out of the woman's face and carefully searched for a pulse.

There was none.

So why did not all wrongs feel righted?

Regina lay dead on the floor, broken like a discarded doll, so why wasn't her childhood returned? And as the mottled skin began to lose heat, the only thing Emma knew for sure was that when she did not- could not- care for Henry, Regina was there, right in this very house, caring for and loving her son. Worrying and cleaning and feeding and changing diapers and all the gritty, less romantic things about having a child. The Evil Queen had loved her son beyond all measure. And Emma was just the person to understand how rare and absolutely precious that love for a child that is not flesh of your flesh is.

It was called redemption.

She gathered Regina in her arms, took her father's sword and prepared to defend her position.

.

.

A mother knows. A mother always knows. Snow followed the silence into the Mayor's study. And when she saw her daughter holding on to a corpse, she knew.

Emma was heartbroken.

.

.

Why was the White Knight crying? Henry could not comprehend. His White Knight, his mother, his true mother had vanquished the Evil Queen, the embodiment of evil. She was victorious. So what was she doing on the floor holding on to the Queen? Why was she crying over her?

Surely they should all be celebrating.

Surely…

.

.

Snow moved to stand by her daughter. Her White Knight. James followed Snow because that's what he always did. He ran his hand through his child's hair, the child that could do no wrong - his White Knight- and he knew.

He took the sword from her hand and stood between her and the silent audience, braced to defend whatever she had decided. Ready to defend her to the death.

Emma laid Regina's body carefully on the ground.

"Is she dead?" There was no shock in Henry's question. Just curiosity.

Emma could not, for the life of her, understand why it was that in that moment she wanted to smack her son, just a good honest to goodness smack.

"NO".

It came out forcefully.

"NO."

And she positioned the body straight on the floor.

"NO!" and she began what she hoped were the correct movements for CPR.

"No, she isn't." Her hands united over the still chest, forcing Regina's heart to beat.

Snow took Regina's wrist in her hands and felt for pulse, hoping against her better sense to feel something, to feel blood pumping through the veins.

.

.

The Blue Fairy walked out, her face twisted in anger, carefully disguised by the lowering of her head in subservience.

.

.

"Regina," Snow called softly. It was strange, because all that she could remember at that moment was that Regina before the wedding to her father. That Regina that smiled with humour and kindness. None of that Queen Regina came to mind now.

Just that she had, once, had a mother in this woman.

Emma motioned Snow to take over the chest compressions. Snow moved without questioning. Emma took Regina's neck in her hand and with the other pinched her nose. Her mouth lowered over Regina's and she held on to the words her CPR instructor had told them- the kiss of life- like a mantra. She breathed life into Regina.

And breathed and breathed and breathed.

Regina's heart remained as still as before.

So for the second time that day, Emma's tears fell for the dead. Hot, angry, desperate.

.

.

The mob remained silent. And in tacit agreement, they remained motionless in vigil. The angry faces a clear warning that if CPR worked, they would undo it.

.

.

"You did this."

Emma's voice was remarkably calm through the crying.

"You did this."

"Do not forget what she did to us." Emma looked up. She saw Kathryn. What a friend.

"Do not forget what she did to you." Ah, Jefferson, the unbalanced creep.

"You killed a person."

"Not a person. The Evil Queen."

Emma gave up on the faces. There were no identities here, just a collective. "A person. And this?" Her finger pointed at the semi circle of angry faces. "This is Evil. Evil won here."

Defeated, she sunk on the floor.

Unaware, Emma's fingers traced a cut on Regina's greying face. She did not see, not really, not then. But a gentle light grew around her finger tips. The light grew warm in her hands and not really noticing much of anything, each bruise she touched faded and disappeared. Each cut she cleaned mended itself. They were small gestures, physical reactions, really. These were not conscious movements, she did not determine any of them.

.

.

Snow was the first to see it, that light, shining a soft shade of white. She was the first to notice the healing. Because, quite frankly, Emma was not really there. Yes, she had her eyes open, but really, this was more like a trance, or a dream state. Things were happening and Emma just kept on tending to each offense intently as if only that particular stretch of skin existed at that time and they were not in these direst of straights facing off with their friends and neighbours so intent on killing that which they were so intent on protecting. It was… inspiring.

She surveyed the crowd. And there it was. The recognition. They had felt the magic before they could really see it.

.

.

Through the anger there was amazement. Their White Knight, the saviour- for there was no doubt now- had magic. There was an uncomfortable shuffling of dozens of feet.

The White Knight was soon a shimmering form. And it was white magic, the likes of which they did not see often.

.

.

The crowd's reaction forced David to look backwards. His Snow stood next to their daughter, her fists raised, ready to pounce on the first to try and stop Emma. That was his Snow, his wife. His face bloomed into a smile of pride. But his daughter? For all that was holy, his Emma? She was shining. She was shinning a white benign magic that took his breath away and made him square his shoulders and stand a little straighter and take one step forward towards the crowd, making them step back once.

.

.

Emma stopped when she found nothing else to heal, a certainty deep in her heart that she'd done this, but unsure as to how or how to do it again. Regina looked like she had a few hours ago, before she had tossed her into the medical supplies closet. She looked pristine and beautiful.

But she was still dead.

.

.

Of all the developments, Henry had not expected this. He had thought that you were born with magic. The same way you are born evil or good. Non magic folk do not become magic, the same way good does not become evil and evil does not become good.

Childhood is simple and innocent because the world is only black and white. There are no in betweens so it is easy to decide.

Henry grew up right there and then into a precocious adulthood: he understood that things change.

He approached Emma and sat on the floor with her.

"Mom?" He pulled on Emma's sleeve so that she knew he was addressing her. "I don't understand…"

.

.

Emma didn't know where they came from, the next few words she spoke. They were neither legitimately thought out nor did she have any proof of what she said, nor the sensitivity of speech to say them, but she did take Henry's hand in hers and pulled his hair out of his forehead with a gentle finger. Henry could still feel the remnants of that magic. "What I did, Henry, giving birth to you, giving you up? That was only pain. What your mom did? Raising you, protecting you, teaching you? That was love. She loved you so much, Henry…"

.

.

Boys, very young boys, are easy with their affections, have a simple belief system.

"I know…" He held Emma's hand and carefully lowered himself next to Regina. "I'm sorry, mom." He placed a gentle kiss on Regina's forehead. "I love you too". He believed Emma and Emma believed Regina.

.

.

It would have been a great moment if Regina had opened her eyes and been alive. It would have been storybook perfect. But she didn't. She remained dead through Henry's proffered love.

There were to be no great deeds of magic, no magical solution.

Henry felt orphaned, which came as shock.

Emma stood unsure what to do. Except carry Regina out of there. There had to be some dignity in all of this. She put her hand on James' shoulder and spoke to the crowd.

"You all step back now. Go home. You've done quite enough."

Snow stood and grabbed the first weapon she could grab- one of Henry's fishing trophies, heavy at the base, handily slim at the top. It did not look to her like anyone would move. And if she knew Emma and James- and she did- they would barrel through the throng to get out.

"Burn her!"

It was one single voice. There was not enough time to identify it, because soon there was nothing more than a pulsating chant of burn, burn, burn.

.

.

Emma took the sword back from her father. This was her battle. This was her being her son's White Knight. James turned on his heel and in a swift movement he had Regina in his arms and with Emma opening the crowd, he walked behind her. Snow closed the rear, back to back with James, Henry clasped tight in her free hand.

Burn! Burn! Burn!

.

.

The chant increased in volume and, it seemed to Henry, made the walls of his childhood vibrate with a terrible energy.

Burn! Burn! Burn!

But his hand was in Snow's and his mom was charging the crowd armed with a sword and he felt a little like a hero to a dying cause. It was noble and good.

Burn! Burn! Burn!

.

.

Though the chanting was deafening, there was no action. No one threw rocks or tried to stop them. They had only the strength of numbers. Emma had the strength of her convictions for the first time in her life and it shone in her steady gaze.

Burn! Burn! Burn!

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

James deposited Regina in Mary Margaret's bed and then stood by it, unable to leave. In her guise as Regina, this woman had been a friend to him. It was difficult to reconcile that with the foe from so long ago.

.

.

Snow stood by the only mother figure she had known and mourned what they didn't have, the forgiveness that could have saved them both such heartache.

.

.

Emma stared at the window. Smoke billowed from the general direction if the mayoral mansion. It seemed the anger had turned physical yet again and the mob was burning the stake having lost a witch to tie to it. She walked and sat by the body. She wished she could do something. Anything. Bring her back. She held on to the Regina's hand as Henry came to seek refuge in her arms. He sat on her lap and there were silent tears on his face, running free.

.

.

You had to be outside that room to understand what happened next. It started with a pulse of light, small at first, a mere point of light, beating such as heart does, above the bed and its occupants. It beat in tandem with the living hearts in that room and drawing strength from them, grew, pulsing, pulsing a double beat, expanding outwards form its core, its edges never losing definition, enveloping them all, surrounding, entering them. All of them. They were vaguely aware of something different in themselves, in the room, but a sense of purpose overcame them. Their hearts beat in unison, in a simple mission.

Live, live, live.

.

.

The pulse of light became Regina's living heartbeat.

Live, live, live.

.

.

There was no gasping awake for Regina. There was simply a becoming aware, as you do when you awake up. Her hands felt the warmth of those holding them and her eyes fluttered open to the beat of her own heart, so strong and good. So peaceful. Like nothing she had ever experienced. She closed her eyes again and let it last. Because she should be dead. She remembered being dead. Remembered the moment her neck snapped and her last breath did not come out of her lungs. Her eyes opened. It wouldn't do to dwell on it.

Only on this: Emma, Henry, Snow and her prince. Around her. And she belonged. Of that she was sure. She belonged.

.

.

Emma was the one that saw it first: brown eyes opening and the chest moving in breath. Her hand squeezed convulsively around Regina's. Henry, deep in sleep in her arms, stirred, his hand touching Regina's face and sighing contentedly.

"You saved me."

Emma smiled.

"It was more of a team effort", she whispered, with a lopsided smile and her chin pointing around the room where James slept on a chair and Snow at the foot of the bed.

"You said you would…"

"Yes I did. Though it was touch and go for a minute there, what with a shiny sword and all…" She smiled a self deprecating smile.

"I was dead…"

"Yeah…"

Regina lowered her head into her chest. It was so difficult to let go of a lifetime of hurt and resentment.

"You brought me back." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yeah..." She passed Henry from her lap to the bed, positioning him beside Regina.

The boy snuggled to the woman, mumbled Love you mom and went back to sleep as if he hadn't just given's Regina the sweetest heartache of her life.

What was the point of fighting tears? If escaping the clutches of death didn't give her leave to shed a few, nothing would. She put her arm around her child and smelled his hair, like she used to when he was but an infant and did not mind such displays.

"I thought I was beyond any happy endings."

"Why? Because of the whole Evil Queen thing?" If it hadn't been said with a smile, Regina would have had all her feathers ruffled. "Can't say I'm not surprised too."

"They burned the house, didn't they?

Emma nodded. "I think they did, yeah"

Regina though about all the mementos. Henry's baby album and the drawings he had presented her with through kindergarten. Scores and scores of carefully preserved treasures from her child- fine, their child- up in smoke.

"It's just stuff, Regina." Emma's hand wandered over and smoothed the other woman's hair, unconsciously. She became aware of it when Regina flinched at the touch, but she didn't stop. She just reclined on the pillow and made herself comfortable around Henry, keeping eye contact.

"She was such a beautiful child," Regina spoke softly looking at Snow. That brought a smile from Emma. "She grew up beautiful."

"Yeah, she did…"

"This is a strange turn of events."

"You'll get used to it."

And that was final. Or not quite. Because since that push and shove match back in the supply closet that Emma had been itching to do something she wasn't quite sure how to handle. True to form, she went in head first and without thinking about it. She lowered her lips to Regina's and just let the kiss happen willing to take the consequences.

.

.

It had felt unbelievable before, when she had been brought back from death, and nothing could ever compare, being alive. But when she felt herself respond, when she felt her lips moving under Emma's, when she felt each cell caressed and warmed all the way to her heart, that void, than unfufilable hole in her, mended itself. And it felt beyond words. It felt a lot like being loved. This was living.

"Sleep now, Regina."

"Will they come for…"

Emma kissed her forehead. "Let them come. I'm here."

"My White Knight," Regina touched her fingers to her lips, holding on to the kiss as if it could possibly run away from her or be taken.

"You know it." And she walked to the window to keep an eye on the shadows moving in the dusk.

.

.

Outside, under the cover of dusk, shadows moved. The Blue Fairy, still in her nun's attire observed the window of the first floor. This she had not seen coming.

.

.

Emma watched from the window. In the dim light of dusk, you need to have good eyesight, to be able to tell the Good from the Evil.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I have dropped out of their hearts like a little sparrow fallen from its nest. So gather me up, dear, fold me into your heart- and you'll see how nice I can be."

Jean-Paul Sartre, No Exit and Three Other Plays.


End file.
